


{your iridescent sheen, and my heart opaque}

by Naemi



Category: Coraline (2009)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Pining, absence makes the heart grow fonder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: Missing Coraline never gets easier. Especially not when the clear sky overhead reminds him of her hair, her nail polish, her dragonfly. Not when the garden is ripe and rife with tulips, a sea of oriental-red and May green.
Relationships: Coraline Jones/Wybie Lovat
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	{your iridescent sheen, and my heart opaque}

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadow_Logic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Logic/gifts).



> Dear Shadow_Logic,
> 
> I sincerely hope this little ficlet is along the lines of what you wanted to see. Happy Yuletide =)

Spring paints the sky a royal blue, and if Wybie squints his eyes just right and holds the hair clip up as far as he can reach, it blends with the background, pink edges and all. He imagines the metal insect taking flight, to new shores, maybe, new adventures, or even a new home. But that's a somewhat childish thought, and he's not a child anymore; he sighs and tucks the pin back into his front pocket.

Missing Coraline never gets easier. Especially not when the clear sky overhead reminds him of her hair, her nail polish, her dragonfly. Not when the garden is ripe and rife with tulips, a sea of oriental-red and May green.

Before he met Coraline, Wybie found gardening bland and boring, but through her love for it, it became his passion over time, and the longer she's away, the more often he visits, not only to tend to her flowers on her behalf, but also to revel in the memories.

Besides, he can't fathom what else he could offer her once she returns but her beloved garden. Sure, they were— _are_ —friends, and maybe, that's even enough: that she has a friend to return to; but then, Wybie never really figured out why a creature as stunning and smart and funny as Coraline would even want to spend time with a creature as silly and daft and boring as him. And while the thought makes his chest and throat feel tight, it's okay. It's honest.

Wybie sighs again as he realizes his fingers are feeling for the dragonfly pin once more. They always do. Perhaps he shouldn't carry it with him wherever he goes, but it's all he has left of her for now, and he can't bring himself to let go.

He misses her too much. So much in fact that it manifests in hearing her voice or seeing her reflection in whichever smooth surface is nearby. To believe she's back, however fleeting the thought, makes his stomach flutter—and _that_ is silly; it's a girl-thing, and stupid on top. But it happens, and if he's really honest with himself, he must admit it's a warm feeling, a happy one, despite every time he turns his head, he finds himself alone.

Wybie wills his hand away from his pocket—not after contouring the dragonfly one last time—and turns for the garden hose. Hundreds of tulips silently plead with him to quench their thirst, and he needs to answer their call.

He gets to work with a smile and a faint melody on his lips. Coraline will be so happy to return to such a lush paradise.

Whenever that will be.

~ ~ ~

“What do you mean, 'leaving,' Jonesy?” Wybie cocks his head and squints his eyes at her. “You barely just got here. Kind of.”

“Feels like it, right?” she says. The corners of her lips curl upward for a heartbeat, then they reverse the movement as if she just had a bite of the sourest lemon there is.

“Yeah,” he says and ducks his head when she remains silent. He's got this feeling in his chest, the one he can't quite name but that he has every time Coraline becomes serious. The one trying to convince him she's about to tell him she really hates him and doesn't want to see him ever again. It's stupid, of course, because while they squabble, they never fight, and besides, he'd wager she does kind of, sometimes, maybe, like him.

Still, he sometimes wonders how much of a friend she truly considers him to be. Perhaps she just hangs out with him because there's no one else around. No one capable of keeping in step with her, anyway, and while he can't tell how he does it, he's pretty sure that he manages.

The silence stretches on, broken only by Wybie drawing circles in the desert-brown dirt with the tip of his foot and Coraline sighing like seven times or so before she finally speaks.

“It won't be for long, you know. At least I hope not. I mean, how long can it take?”

Wybie means to say something witty, or at least something somewhat funny, but when he opens his mouth, the words that rush out are, “But you _will_ be back, right?” He wants to kick his butt the same second because he sounds so needy, whiny even, as if he can't stand the thought of being without her. And while that's true, very technically speaking, he can't let on, and so he adds, “'Coz the cat will miss you lots,” and that doesn't make it any better. Not at all.

He blushes and looks down to watch the silver sunlight dance on the surface of his shoes and the tiny quartz crystals in the sand. It's fascinating. A little bit like patterns of fairy dust. If fairies existed, of course.

Coraline snorts and punches his upper arm hard enough for him to _oomph_ and rub the spot.

“I'll miss you, too, you know,” she says softly.

When Wybie looks at her again, he finds her cheeks rosy red just like he knows his own must be, and something inside him rejoices, like the buoyant flutter of a butterfly wing and the happy patter of a stream and the carefree whisper of the wind.

She's so close, and her eyes are so intense: big marbles of fawn brown, pure and captivating; and if he leans in only a little closer, perhaps he could …

Coraline punches him again and the moment is gone. He isn't even sad. He knows it's just a fantasy. And those are for kids, anyway.

“You won't even notice I'm gone.”

“Yeah. Won't miss your crazy, that's for sure.”

~ ~ ~

Sometimes, Wybie lies awake at night and pictures the moment Coraline returns. He knows it won't bring her back sooner, but it's all he has to help battle the loneliness.

He usually paints colorful pictures of their reunion by the garden. It would be in full bloom, and she would be so excited about it. The perfume in the air would be heavy, and the birds would serenade her, and Coraline would smile at him, and his world would be perfect.

Over time, this simple image becomes a little more elaborate. She'd hug him for sure. Probably also punch his arm because that's what she does. (“It means she likes you,” his grandma would say, and he would roll his eyes and change the subject.) And maybe, if he's really lucky, and if he dares make a move, he might even steal a peck on the cheek. Just because, you know, “It's good to have you back, Jonesy.” She might not even notice. Or just not say anything. Special circumstances and all.

And sometimes, his imagination takes hime places that confuse him. Like when it makes him picture stealing not just a peck on the cheek but a kiss on the lips. The mere thought—not that he contemplates _doing_ it; he couldn't; she'd _kill_ him, and besides, he'd die of shame—makes his heart clench.

He imagines her tasting like cherries, or strawberries, or maybe just … Coraline. Because she's just that special.

But kissing is for grown-ups. And also … weird.

And fascinating.

And it's nights like these, when Wybie's imagination adds taste to smell and sound and sight, that he almost realizes why he really misses Coraline so much.

~ ~ ~

Today's the day, and it's nothing like it should have been. The sky is of a heavy charcoal and thunder rolls in the distance. The garden is barren and bleak.

When Wybie hears a car come up the hill leading to the Pink Palace, his heartbeat immediately picks up. He brushes the dirt from his hands. His work is done; there isn't much gardening to do this late in the year to begin with. Maybe he should have planted the Christmas roses earlier, but frankly, he isn't sure if Coraline will like them at all. Just to be on the safe side, they occupy only a small patch.

The seconds drag on, turning into minutes, and Wybie feels oddly out of place, a black, bleak dot of discouraged human in a vast, intimidating world.

And then, she's there, rounding the corner and coming towards him with a huge smile on her face. 

If this were a movie, the clouds would part just in that moment and allow the sun to bathe her in golden light to emphasize how _absolutely gorgeous_ she is, but of course, in reality, nothing changes at all.

Wybie watches her approach without being able to find his voice. What could he say, anyway?

She stops in front of him, that big smile still lighting up her face, and cocks her head to the side, a gesture he copies.

“I told you I'd return,” she says so softly that the light breeze tousling her hair almost steals the word from her. She tilts her head upright again—Wybie matches the movement once more—and reaches out as if to deliver one of her signature punches, but instead, she pulls him into a tight hug.

Although it's exactly what Wybie imagined, the reality of it overwhelms him. She's so close that it's butterflies and streams and wind all over again. His fingertips long to search for the outline of the dragonfly hair clip in his front pocket.

“Did you miss me?” she asks as she lets go.

He thinks of royal blue, oriental-red, and May green, but all he sees is fawn brown—her eyes, _so close_ —and bubblegum pink— _her lips, so close_ —and before he knows, he pulls her back in and steals that kiss that he'd been pining for for so long.

She doesn't kill him.

For a moment, she does nothing but kind of keen, ever-so-slightly, and then—then she kisses him back.

And, oh, it's the sweetest thing, even though Wybie couldn't tell what her lips taste like because, frankly, he's got other things on his mind. Like his jackrabbiting heartbeat. Like his clammy palms. Like the overwhelming warmth that fills him from the tips of his toes to the tips of his hair.

It seems to last forever, but as is so often the case with first kisses, it's actually chaste and short. When it ends and he opens his eyes again, he still can't process it. But she's here, nestled against his chest, and he can feel her heart chasing the moment just like his own.

After a fabulous minute, Coraline starts to withdraw again, and this time, Wybie lets her. 

“So you _did_ miss me.”

Grinning, he shrugs. “Not really. Only like”—he holds his fingers like two inches apart—“this much, maybe. Dragonfly hair clip wingspan much.”

She chuckles. “Did you keep it?”

Instead of replying, Wybie fishes it out of his pocket and presents it on his open palm.

Coraline stares at it for a minute. She reaches out as if to grab it but lets her fingertips run over it instead, much like Wybie had done so often. Then, she closes his fingers around it.

“Keep it a little longer.”

“Why? Are you leaving again?”

“Don't be stupid.” She chuckles again. “No, consider it a token.”

“A token of what?”

Rolling her eyes, Coraline punches his arm lightly. “If you don't know … Well, I'm not going to spell it out for you.”

“I honestly—”

She puts her finger on his lips to hush him. “I'm sure you'll figure it out.” She leans in as if to kiss him again, but instead simply cocks her head to the side once more before taking his hand and leading him back towards the house.

“I like the Christmas roses, by the way.”

“You do?”

“Sure. Did you know they're highly poisonous?”

Wybie snorts. “Figures.”


End file.
